


Apologies

by confectionerybrick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confectionerybrick/pseuds/confectionerybrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sometimes finds words hard to place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in canon, just after the events of 5.18 Point of No Return, so spoilers for that episode and previous. Also kind of discounts what happens to Cas at the beginning of 5.21.
> 
> I also want to say that I'm fairly new to the Supernatural fandom as I very recently started watching - at the moment I'm nearing the halfway point of season 7 so I'm not 100% caught up. Therefore if there's something, anything in this fic that isn't 100% true to canon either pre-season 7 but especially post, please forgive me!
> 
> \--
> 
> For Emma.

Blood was thrumming hard against Dean's skull as they pulled into a motel parking lot in the back yard of Nevada, dust in hurricanes upon the Impala's trunk as it rolled and bounced over pebbles and rocks. His shoulders caved in relief as he turned off the engine, his muscles tense and sore. Sam swung out of the car and pulled his rucksack of essentials out of the back before looking at Dean, waiting for him to follow suit into the motel reception area. Dean raised a finger, telling his brother wordlessly to go on and secure a room, that he would follow suit. Sam frowned, then shrugged and turned away. For once, he must have been too tired to argue with or question his older brother. It was 3am, after all, and Dean had wanted to drive as far away from Van Nuys as possible. He couldn't really say why. Perhaps it was just that he wanted to run as far away as possible from the place where they had failed to stop Michael taking a vessel. Failed to save Adam.

He sat for a while, listening to the ticks of the engine cooling down. Sam came out of reception after a few minutes with a large tagged room key, rattling it at Dean to get his attention, before walking along the parking lot and opening the chipped, red door with a large number 13 on it before disappearing inside. Dean stretched his arms out, absent mindedly massaging his left shoulder, and then took a deep breath. His fingers, almost quivering, slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and sent a brief text message.

There was a flurry of feathers and a faint breeze ruffled his hair, despite the muggy, static night. He didn't look round but felt the heavy presence of another man who had entered the car without opening the door.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean put the cell phone back into his jacket and restarted the engine of the Impala.

Castiel cocked his head. "If you wanted me to meet you somewhere you could have informed me of -"

"No - there is no place to be. No emergency. Just - let's just drive."

They swung out of the lot and onto the country road Dean had driven down not ten minutes before, heading back out of the small, dusty town. The road was open, straight and wide, and he took advantage of this by revving the engine and quickly gathering speed. His hands clenched on the wheel and he felt his shoulders set back into their firm driving position, extending the tension up Dean's neck and to the base of his skull, worsening his headache. He could never drive as fast as he really wanted to when Sam was in the passenger seat.

Dean could feel Cas' eyes burning into his skin.

"He took Adam." Cas finally said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Dean coughed. "I, uh... I couldn't get back in after Sam and I escaped. Should have pushed them out first. I guess Michael got tired of waiting and just... grabbed the first brother he could."

Cas frowned. "I don't think he ever meant to take Adam. You were always the only vessel."

Dean scowled, not knowing if that made things worse. "I know."

"If I had realised earlier... known it was definitely a trap, I -"

"Put a sock in it, Cas," Dean interrupted, frustrated. "If we hadn't have gone, they'd still have Adam anyway. At least we tried to get him out. At least I got a chance to gank Zachariah. I don't need to hear your Spock crap about emotions getting in the way of logic."

"If I had known it was a trap then you wouldn't have been put within Michael's reach," Castiel said firmly. "Michael would have Adam, yes, but I am certain he would still have held out for you. This way he knows now that you're never going to say yes, that you'd rather kill angels than submit to them. You killed Zachariah and so he had to seize the opportunity to take Adam as a substitute for you."

Dean pulled round the next corner a little too fast, almost hitting a stray dog that was padding along the road. "Don't - don't..."

"Don't blame yourself for Adam's role in all of this, Dean."

"How can you say that when you pretty much just told me it was my fault he got taken?" Dean bit, his knuckles whitening on the leather as he sped up. "Adam wouldn't be a sock puppet if it wasn't for me, for us - he wouldn't be as good as dead."

"He shouldn't even be alive," Cas said sternly from beside him. "His resurrected self was at Zachariah and Michael's mercy this whole time. If he didn't agree to be the vessel as a lure to get you to say yes, he'd be captured and tortured until he either agreed or until they decided to use him as a hostage to get to you anyway. Did you really think they'd let him wander about on Earth after he served his purpose, knowing what he did? With his connections to us? Even if you had rescued him, they'd have found him again one way or another. Even with the Enochian I inscribed on his ribs."

This didn't make Dean feel any better, but he knew Cas was right. He bit his tongue; he didn't call Cas down to vent his anger at him, even though that was all he seemed to be managing so far.

He didn't know how to begin what he knew he had to admit - that he had failed Cas by giving Michael what he wanted, even though that something wasn't Dean. He thought about what Cas had said to him before they entered the beautiful room. He had taken the angel's reprimand in silence, and still didn't speak even when he helped Cas carve the angel banishing sigil into his own chest with a penknife. He had known he had no right to feel the slightest bit of pleasure as he sliced through Cas' skin, thinking of the way Cas had bust open Dean's face with his fists hours previously, because the symbol he was carving was the same one he had sneakily used against Cas earlier that evening. He had known that Cas could take care of himself and that if push came to shove he would use the sigil, but his comments on the act Dean had branded 'suicide' had stuck in Dean's head and made it swim.

Cas pulled the tie he had earlier discarded out of his trenchcoat and tied it loosely around the collar of his bloodstained shirt, as if trying to smarten up a little. It made Dean feel strangely humbled, as though the act was Cas' way of saying he had been right all along. Dean sighed, applied the brakes and swung into a short track that led to a river, smothered by oak and pine trees. He rolled the car just far down so they could see the water pulsing by beneath them, before getting out and walking over to the gate to the bank. He stretched out his shoulders once more, agitated.

"Look, I..." Dean faltered as Cas joined him in the open air. He scratched his head, heart in his mouth. "I'm sorry. I failed you, you were right. You didn't have to - to watch me lose, in the end, but..."

"What are you talking about?"

Dean looked across at Cas, the left side of his face dappled with the shadows of leaves in the grey moonlight. He had cocked his head inquisitively, and Dean was suddenly reminded of the first time they had met face to face. Cas had seen right through him then - he wondered if he was as easy to read now.

"It is true that Michael got his hands on a vessel and in that respect, circumstances are not in our favour," Cas said, narrowing his eyebrows. "But that is not your fault. When I told you I thought you would fail, I meant the act of saying yes to Michael."

Dean swallowed and blinked. Cas paused, and momentarily broke eye contact with Dean in favour of a frog that was hopping by the gate.

"But I was also scared of... seeing you die. If they did want Adam after all, your reluctance to submit would be an annoyance to them. Zachariah, I know, would be heartily tempted to smite you on the spot. That... would be even more painful to watch."

Dean could feel his heartbeat taking over his breathing pattern, and he leaned against the gate to steady himself. He wasn't fantastic at apologies, but he couldn't let Cas leave without giving it his best shot. The shine of Cas' bright blue eyes in the semi darkness was making him falter.

"I'm still - I'm sorry you lost so much faith. In me, I mean," he continued, turning to face Cas properly. "You - I deserved that beating. You were right - you're goddamn nearly always right, you son of a bitch."

He gave a shaky laugh at the half-hearted insult, but as usual Cas didn't pick up on Dean's subvertive method of trying to rekindle positivity by name-calling.

"Dean, I -"

"No, Cas, let me finish. I just - lost track of the big picture, y'know? I mean, what I was thinking of _was_ the big picture, but I'd let so much crap get to me that I'd forgotten all the advice you'd given us. That Sam and Bobby gave me - that I've given to them, come to that. I - I even told Sam that I didn't think he could stand up to Lucifer, goddamnit - why the hell did I do that? What kind of thing is that to say?"

Cas blinked, then reached out and touched Dean's left shoulder. "It was the truth."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, and a fat lot of good it's going to do us if Sam gives in, now that Michael's got a vessel. I just... I've been so selfish. Selfish and stupid. And I... I don't know how to make it up to you, Cas. After everything you've done for us - for me..."

He looked at his boots, reliving in his head Cas' words from their fight (or rather, Dean's complete submission to a beating) and the fury carved in his face as he had pounded Dean against the brick wall. _I rebelled for this? So that you could surrender to them? I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?_ Back in the alley, he had stared at Cas' balled up fists as he lay bleeding on the floor, and the angriest, most defeated part of him had growled _do it!_ He'd wanted Cas to knock him out cold - hell, maybe even kill him, a crazy part of him had ventured - anything to escape being Michael's bitch and destroying half the planet, anything to escape the judgement from Sam and Bobby - but most of all, to escape the look of disappointment on the face of the man that had sacrificed everything for him, had saved him time and time again.

Cas' hand moved to grasp the lapel of Dean's jacket, and he took a step closer. "You did not surrender to Michael. You went against your fate to become the vessel of heaven. I did not expect you to come through on that... but you did. I didn't know how to make you listen to me at the time - you are one of the most stubborn humans I have ever met and that is part of why... why I feel what I feel about you, Dean. Why I believe in you, but also why I was so angry that you wouldn't listen to me when it mattered most. I am sorry it had to come to a fistfight, but I... I will admit that there was something therapeutic about it for me. I don't regret hitting you if that is what made you change your mind, but I would rather not have to do it again."

Dean closed his eyes, and felt Cas' hand move again, this time from his jacket up to his face. His thumb caressed the cut on Dean's cheek, then lingered on the one on his lip - the cuts that he had put there. Dean waited for what Cas would usually do, remedy his injuries with a touch of his finger, but it did not come. The feeling of a smooth, warm palm on his face was, however, startlingly similar to being magically healed.

Cas' words struck Dean, so much so that he didn't want to look up. He nodded, acknowledging the fact that he deserved to wear these marks as a sign of loyalty to Cas, as a reminder of how he had made one of his closest friends feel. He opened his eyes to find Cas's face only inches away from his own, as close as they had been in the alley but with a completely different mood humming over them. All he could see was the sorrow painted in Cas' wide eyes, all he could feel was the hand on his face and the angel's quick breath fluttering over his lips. For a ridiculous moment he almost wanted to kneel in reverence, swear he would never do anything to disrespect Cas again, promise that he wouldn't take him for granted anymore. His head was spinning and he didn't know why.

And then suddenly their lips were joined, and Dean didn't know if he or Cas had initiated it, but this was strange and new and completely unexpected. He started to lose his balance, probably because he didn't know why this was happening and which way was up any more, and they parted, but only just. Cas' eyes were wide, his breathing ragged, and Dean supposed he himself looked a similar level of shocked. He guessed he must have initiated it, but... other than the fact that it felt completely right, as though they should have been doing this for a long time already, he couldn't form any coherent thought on the matter.

He raised a shaking hand to Cas' unkempt hair, and experimentally, forcefully, with the little voice in the back of his head rambling _what am I doing why and I doing this this is Cas Cas Cas you don't even like men but does Cas really count oh god shut up_ , kissed him again. The hand on Dean's face crept upwards and tightened in his hair, as though Cas was mirroring Dean's actions. He guessed that probably was what he was doing, seeing as Cas had little to no experience in these matters, and was learning on the job, as it were. His hand slid just under the trench coat and Cas responded by pulling Dean tighter against him.

Dean gasped in surprise and pushed Cas back, back to where he guessed the car was, until he was pressing him against the door to the back seat. He didn't have a clue what he was doing - well, this was his area of expertise with women but with men, uncharted territory - but it felt so much more effective than verbally begging forgiveness and swearing allegiance. His lips moved frantically, desperately, longing for Cas to take this as some kind of apology. His fingers scrabbled at Cas' jacket, clenching and pulling and reaching inside, as Cas' own hands moved down Dean's neck, over his collar and then one rib at a time, as if counting the bones he had marked with his own scripture.

They broke apart again, panting, breath steaming in the cold air. Dean was constantly surprised by how Cas could appear a serious, powerful, all-knowing warrior one moment and then a wide-eyed, innocent boy the next. His eyes flickered over the whole of Cas' face: his cheeks, pink from exertion or excitement or both; his lips, full and raw; his eyes, confused, innocent, looking at Dean as though trying to read him.

Dean's eyes were desperate to take all of him in but before he could do so Cas had seized him in another kiss, stripping control from Dean and spinning him round so that he was the one surrendered against the car. He really was a fast learner, Dean thought, mind reeling as his posture changed, bent slightly backwards to fit the curve of the car's frame so that Cas' sharp hips dug into his. He whimpered at the new sensation of their cocks pushed flush together - since when did Dean Winchester whimper? - and almost stopped breathing as Cas' lips went lower, over his jawline, down his neck and under his shirt collar. The sensation of stubble roaming his skin wasn't something he ever imagined liking, ever considered he would experience, but just because it belonged to the person he was right here with, it somehow made it exciting and sexy and God, he craved it.

He pushed Cas away from the car so he could open the door, then guided him into the back seat where the car's heater provided warmth, still trying to maintain bodily contact with as many square inches of him as possible. He swept an empty beer bottle off the seat, mentally swearing at Sam for leaving the mess, before reaching back and swinging the door shut behind him. Cas was propped up on an elbow, laying beneath Dean with his coat and jacket half off, hair sticking up on end from where Dean's fingers had ravaged it. He was watching Dean intently, just as intently as he had been in the panic room what seemed like forever ago, and dimly Dean reflected on the irony of what he had said to Cas as a joke, then: _Well, Cas, not for nothin', but the last person that looked at me like that? I got laid..._

Cas grabbed Dean's jacket and pulled him down onto the seat. Dean hooked an arm under Cas' knees and yanked him forwards a little so he had room to lie down properly, knees bent around Dean's torso. Dean crawled forwards and resumed his claim on Cas' lips, gently at first, but then he couldn't help becoming more urgent once his mind started replaying all the events of the past few days. He was the one that echoed Cas this time, moving over his throat and down his collarbone, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt slowly as he kissed, licked and sucked his way lower. Cas let out small, erratic breaths that seemed so loud in the small world that they'd made together in the car, breaths that made him seem delicate, human and innocent again.

Dean finished unbuttoning and slid the shirt open, thanking the stars that the sigil was gone from Cas' chest. He pulled him up and pushed shirt, jacket and coat from his shoulders at once, leaving him half exposed, before pushing him back down and running a hand through his dark hair. Cas tried to nibble at Dean's neck again but Dean wouldn't let him, as good as it felt. He needed to do this, he needed to show Cas that he really was sorry, that he hated the way he'd treated him and that he didn't have words for how he felt for him, for all the things he'd done for Dean. He ran his hands up Cas' chest, making him squirm and shiver, deftly toying with his lips before moving lower again. He traced the skin he had sliced into hours before to make the sigil, the same symbol he had used against him previously, apologising with whispers and kisses and gentle nips with his teeth, worshipping the area with lips, hands and soul. Cas's fingers shook, they moved from beside his hips to playing with Dean's collar to up through his hair again, resting then gripping then stroking.

Dean looked up when he found himself crouched at the end of the seat, hovering above Cas' zipper. Cas was restless, sweaty; Dean felt his cock twitch violently inside his jeans at the sight of him.

"Cas? Are you sure you want to do this?"

Cas sat bolt upright, taking Dean by surprise. The dark stare that he nearly always wore had such a different effect on him now... he didn't know how he was going to stand it day to day.

"Have I given you reason to doubt thus far?"

"No, but..." Dean paused, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. "I just - I want you to understand... I mean, this isn't just about apologies, or - or - I mean, it kind of is for me, I guess but I - this isn't just what you do with anyone, it - it's deeper than that, I -"

"You don't have to explain what sex is, Dean," Cas said, his face softening as he cupped the other man's chin again. "I'm inexperienced, but I'm not ignorant. I know what it signifies. Truth be told I've never found anyone, human or angel, that I had ever considered... being complete with - not until I met you. Gender does not matter to me but I know it's generally of more import to humans, so I didn't think it my place to take that step with you if you... were not inclined. But yes, I know what this means, and yes, I want to do it. You won't break me, Dean. You can't - I'm much stronger than you are. I think it's more likely to be the other way around."

Dean was still revelling at the possibility that Cas had thought about this before now. He smiled, nervously. It also dawned on him that he had not yet been the physically weakest one during sex before.

Cas must have realised his sudden trepidation, because he leaned forwards those few inches and kissed him, lightly. "But I see you are determined to take the lead, and that's perfectly fine with me."

Dean kissed him back, hungrily, with something else to be grateful for now. His heart pounded in his chest; he was smiling stupidly into the kiss just because Cas was being Cas, in all his serious sweetness. He didn't want him to regret this, didn't want him to back out or have a bad first experience. He wanted to worship him, wanted him to fall apart in Dean's arms, so Dean could rebuild him again.

Cas peeled the jacket off Dean's back in the quickly overheating car - the night was crisp and fresh but their feverishness on top of the engine heat was making the air in the car close and sticky, and Dean was already damp under his shirt. He started to unbutton it but Cas batted his hands away and started it for him, leaving him to reach back and get the awkward bits out of the way - their shoes and socks. He trembled as he started on Cas' trousers - he brushed against the angel's growing erection as he fumbled with the button, and Cas's breath faltered as his eyes grew wide again, not being used to the sensation. The whole bottom half came off at once, leaving Cas exposed as Dean tossed the garments towards the front seat.

He tried not to let nerves show as he kissed his way down from navel to hip, trying to ignore the painful, pounding arousal in his own pants. He started off with what he knew drove himself wild, from experience with the opposite sex - small kisses round his inner thighs as his right hand crept up to link with Cas' fingers; his breath gently fluttering through the hairs there and making Cas twitch and gasp. His thumb drew circles on the back of Cas' hand as he did the same with his tongue - small, teasing spirals round and round the head of his cock, before licking gently down to the base. He chanced a glance upwards and saw Cas watching him, that same look of curiosity that he always wore tinted with dark arousal. Dean's lips hovered around the head for a minute, and then, still looking into Cas' eyes, swallowed him almost whole. Cas almost broke Dean's hand as his body reacted hard; his thighs fought a tight hold on Dean's shoulders and he let his head fall back onto the leather seat with a choked, broken groan. Dean squeezed his free hand back to unzip his pants and immediately felt the sweetness of release from constraint as he pulled his cock free from his jeans, moaning as he sucked his way back up Cas. The vibrations from his throat hummed through Cas' body, making him shudder, and Dean swallowed him again.

He didn't know how long it was before Cas was restless again, squirming on the slick leather. He wasn't sure how long Cas would last - being a virgin, being an angel - did the two balance each other out, or was one not important at all? All he focused on was pulling more of those desperate, erratic growls from his throat, making Cas feel human, and making himself feel like God.

Dean pulled away after a few minutes, not wanting this to be over before it had even begun. He was embarrassed as he tried to regain composure after doing _that_ for the first time, but Cas didn't care. He felt himself be pulled up roughly by the neck to meet Cas in the middle, getting a fleeting look at the bead of sweat that trickled over his bitten, bright red lips before it was engulfed in a kiss. Cas pulled them together, down onto the seat, with that surprising strength that Dean occasionally forgot he possessed. He was painfully hard now, and mumbled profanities into Cas' lips as they kissed messily, chests sticking together with exertion and hips trying to slot together. Dean was still wearing underwear; he felt fingers on his back creep under the elastic and clutch possessively at his skin. He thrust up to give him better access, allowing the hand to roam over as much as it liked, as his cock burned fire against cotton and skin and his lips reached Cas' forehead. He kissed along the line where flushed skin met his dark shock of hair, almost blue in the moonlight, and Cas bit and nuzzled at Dean's neck in return. The hand on his ass moved round to Dean's front, eager to return the favour, and as much as Dean thought he would pass out with the anticipation of waiting for that touch, he grasped Cas by the wrist and tugged it away.

They paused for a few seconds, breathing heavily. He needed to make Cas understand, preferably without words because he simply didn't have any. He started by kissing the hand he'd gripped in his own, delicately loving each of those fingers that had brought him back from torture and pain. Never looking away from those blue eyes, he moved down the wrist to the elbow, before placing it above Cas' head as if telling him to _stay put, don't you dare move_. He kissed each eyelid, the tip of his nose, then pecked at his lips, not letting Cas deepen it as he appeared to be so keen to do. He reached down between them, parting their bodies so he could trail his fingers over Cas's cock again. The angel's eyes drifted closed; he was trembling with the sudden lack of contact, and Cas twitched and tensed under the return of Dean's light touch. Grinning, he decided he'd give it a few minutes before he returned there. He wanted to build Cas up again from the beginning, slowly, carefully, but his own ache was starting to drive him insane. There had to be a compromise.

Instead, he reached down, heart hammering in his chest, between Cas' legs and under, to new territory. He let his fingertips lightly circle the puckered skin there, biting his lip as he waited for a reaction.

Cas opened his eyes and stared at Dean. "I told you, you're not going to break me."

 _Oh, just let me try,_ Dean thought. In a completely different way, of course.

He looked around desperately, half climbing off Cas to search in the duffel bag in the footrest. Condoms he always had but did they need them? There was nothing he was going to catch off Cas and nothing he could give to him that Cas couldn't cure of himself anyway. He didn't exactly have lube handy, but... _ah-hah_. His hands closed around an old, half-empty bottle of massage oil that he'd gotten to help ease the pain of a hamstring he'd damaged during a job last summer. He set it on the seat, then tried to clamber around and find an angle at which he could take off his underwear - flustered, he started to pull away from Cas completely - but Cas, who wasn't having any of it, pulled him back and seized the fabric with one tight fist, ripping it off Dean in one smooth tug, then resumed kissing his neck and shoulder as if that wasn't a big deal.

Never mind that that was his favourite pair - Dean thought he might come just from that action alone. He was shaking slightly as he picked the bottle back up, causing him to squeeze a little too much into his palm. He rubbed his hands together and trailed one down its previous path, gently reworking the hot skin until he felt it relax. Tentatively, he inserted a finger, and Cas stilled beneath him as he got used to the sensation. They hovered, just watching each other, waiting for the slightest sign that something wasn't okay, but it never came. After a few minutes, Dean inserted another finger and began to move more rhythmically, playing with Cas' breathing patterns again. He saw emotion dance in his eyes, watched his nostrils flare as he breathed and loved the way his lips parted and pursed as he gasped. He was rock hard against Cas' thigh as he felt muscle clench and quiver around him, the heat and the pressure on his fingers alone being almost too much to bear.

Cas reached forward and took Dean's other hand, the one that was smudging oil all over the upholstery (for once, Dean didn't give a rat's ass), and clutched, it, stroked it, massaged it. His own was left glistening, and he trailed it down towards their centre; Dean was almost unprepared for the feeling of Cas' fingers closing around him, smothering him in heaven. So far almost completely untouched, he thought he would burn out from the mixed relief and undeniable pleasure that came. He exhaled a desperate swearword against Cas' temple, and Cas reached up with his other hand to trace the cut on Dean's lip once more, eyebrows furrowing.

"Don't say you're sorry," Dean muttered instantly, reading Cas' expression, turning his head slightly to kiss the fingers on his jaw. He progressed back to Cas' lips, his new fascination - usually so pale, they now burned deep pink in the soft light. Impatient, strangled noises started to come from his chest; Dean relished the effect he was having on him, as if he had all the power - but really, it was the other way around. Dean couldn't stop doing this if he tried.

He positioned himself at Cas' entrance, slowly pushing until his stomach met Cas' pelvis. He grasped the leather seat to steady himself - the heat and the pressure were almost too intense. He could feel himself sway as Cas tightened around him, and his other hand grappled for anything it could find - settling on the arm Cas couldn't seem to place. Cas yanked Dean's head down and hummed into his ear, hot, damp whispers that mingled with the sweat trickling down Dean's neck; "The first time we met - the first time you were conscious - you shot and stabbed me. This body feels pain, but I can choose to ignore it - pleasure, on the other hand, I can't ignore even if I wanted to."

Dean took that as his cue, thank _fuck_. His thigh muscles were trembling already as he started to move his hips, Cas' hands running through his hair in some gesture of reassurance. He was nervous like he hadn't been since he lost his virginity, but then, he mused, this was another new experience for him.

Everything he touched was burning; the oil was just the accelerator to the fire in the pit of where they were joined. Every thrust, every stroke was smooth magic. Dean ran his damp fingers up and down Cas' heaving chest, drawing patterns. He moved up to toy with the lips that lay parted, gasping for cool, fresh air that was never going to reach them in this confined space, this steaming car. Cas kissed and licked Dean's fingers lazily, as if they were slowly feeding him drops of water. Dean couldn't resist leaning down and kissing him, kissing as though Cas was the only coolant in the sweltering bed they'd made for themselves.

The noises Cas was making were unlike anything Dean had ever heard come from him before; soft, guttural pleas that contrasted so sharply with the powerful, warrior's stance his frame usually displayed. Watching Cas respond to Dean's body beneath him was so hypnotically different to all his previous experiences with women. He'd never even considered the possibility of being attracted to men before, unless of course you count his breathless fascination with watching Bruce Springsteen videos when he was fifteen (which he did not), and right at this moment he just tried to persuade himself that this was _Cas_ , an anomaly and exception to the rule. But there was just something about feeling a body so close to him that was so like his own, knowing just what to do to drive it insane just by familiarity, that turned him on even more. He briefly imagined their places switched, surrendering control to Cas as he lay panting on the seat below, gazing up at a man who just wanted to give him the whole night, the whole world. Cas reached up and clasped the hand Dean had on his thigh to steady himself, as if he was reading his mind right then and there.

"More," Cas breathed into Dean's ear, grazing his lips over his cheek. "I know you're holding back. I know you, Dean."

Dean shuddered, trying not to think too much about the way his name sounded in the back of Cas' throat lest this became over too quickly. He stilled for a moment, thinking, then reached to grab the discarded trench coat and rolled it roughly into a cushion shape. He pulled Cas' thighs higher, ending up with one leg over each shoulder, and positioned the coat under his hips, figuring that it would give him a better angle. He was right; his next thrust took him all the way in and he almost had to bite down on the knee brushing his cheek to deal with the pressure. His own reaction was nothing compared to Cas', which was to arch his whole torso off the seat and ball his fists around Dean's. He linked his ankles behind Dean's neck and his thighs squeezed together, almost strangling, as he cried out desperately. Dean settled for soft kisses to Cas' thigh to try and calm his own excitement as he crept a hand back down to the angel's erection, and softly started to stroke him again.

He'd never seen Cas more out of control and out of himself than he was at that moment. He gently lifted the legs out from around his neck so he could resume a more comfortable angle, pressing close to Cas so as to lay kisses like soft prayers on his neck, cherishing each inch of glistening skin that heaved and quivered beneath his lips. Cas threw his hands over Dean's neck instead, lost his fingers in his hair, rasping Dean's name like it was the only word that existed any more. Dean couldn't help but to speed up, pinpointing Cas' sweet spot to provoke more of those delicious moans that came with each movement; they grew into cries and then screams that sounded as though they were being ripped from Cas' throat, and each one made Dean feel like he was hovering at the brink of the rapture, destined for glory or damnation and not caring which.

Dean could sense that he was getting close; it was taking all he had not to pound mercilessly into tight, deep, divine heat, but he was also desperate for this to last. His fingers clutched and scratched at flesh, bone, hair, as he buried his nose in Cas' neck, cries lost over slick skin. Just as he thought he was going to collapse from the effort, he felt Cas grip his arms tight and push him off slightly. The look in his eyes could have consumed galaxies in fire. With another of those surprising gestures of strength he sat them both up, sliding Dean round so he was sat semi-upright against the seat backrest.

“C-Cas, what – oh, _f-fuck_ ,” he stammered as Cas lowered himself onto Dean, grinding against him and digging their hips together. Dean could barely concentrate on anything as Cas took over all the work; he was suffocating in the humidity, sandwiched between Cas and the leather seat, and all he could do was clutch Cas closer. There was oil all over their stomachs and Cas, quick learner he was, used it to his advantage as he pressed and rubbed his cock tight against Dean's belly. He placed one hand over that mark it had first left on Dean's shoulder when he had raised him from Hell, and lifted Dean's head with the other, looking down on him again with that exact same expression from the panic room, but this time their faces were only centimetres apart and Dean felt more naked than he had done the whole time as he whispered _please_ and _yes_ and _don't fucking stop_ and other, more personal things that got lost in between. He felt as though he was spread bare before an altar, with every sweet syllable slipping from his lips some praise to his own personal deity. How he had gone so long without realising this is what he wanted most on earth, how he could think of giving up before the person who had given him all and continued to do so now, in every way, Dean shuddered to think. This had started with Dean's need to make Cas realise just how much he was valued and it was ending with Cas claiming Dean, as was the way it was always bound to finish.

Cas' fingers clenched painfully on Dean's hand-printed scar and Dean watched his face completely lose all focus and composure: in seconds he went from intense and unblinking to slack and unfocused as he clenched powerfully around Dean and rode out his orgasm against him, bearing down with full capability of breaking the other man's bones. It was too much for Dean, who buried himself in the crook of Cas' neck and bit down hard as his own climax came upon him suddenly, wildly; there was nothing but Cas, nothing but burning skin under his fingertips, nothing but the sweat on his face and the electric racing round his body.

They stilled in their own stupors; Cas dropped his head on top of Dean's, lips open and lazy against the top of his head. Dean was breathing heavily as he watched cold drops cut paths in the opacity of the windows, steamed with perspiration, refusing to stop touching as much of Cas as he could reach. He knew he would have left bruises on that shoulder and probably on his back too, where his fingers had tried their best to puncture skin, and contemplated briefly asking Cas to leave them there, just as he had deliberately left the marks on Dean's face.

Cas planted soft kisses on Dean's forehead as they came back down to one another.

"So _this_ is what humans do with the one person they care most about? This is what that feels like?" he asked in between each kiss, his voice a scratchy whisper, pitched so low Dean knew he wouldn't have heard it if he'd been any further away.

Dean nodded. "I, uh, I guess so."

"Then I should have done this a long time ago."

Dean's head swam as Cas vocalised the same thought he'd had earlier, and he felt his breath get knocked out of him. He leaned back eagerly so their lips could meet, and it felt fresh, tender and new. This wasn't heat of the moment, this was careful and deliberate; it made Dean's heart jump again and he clasped his fingers through Cas'. He tried not to think about how tonight had escalated so quickly, what would happen now or tomorrow or next week, but concentrated on what was right here in front of him. What was his, and who he belonged to. For that moment, at least.

“I really – I really am sorry,” Dean rasped hazily into the kiss. "For everything."

“It is forgotten.”


End file.
